War Crimes
by Gentleman Ziggles
Summary: A soldier, and a doctor who both fought and killed during WWII, now butt heads once more. How could the Red Team ever hope to beat the Blus when they're too busy trying to kill each other?
1. In where the mission starts

Spelling errors, and missing words are due to a lack of sleep, and I'm actually afraid to post this here, cuz I have a fear of being eaten |D Enjoy anyways~

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"MEDIC!" The American soldier screamed, dodging past flying bullets, shooting off a rocket of his own as he made his escape. He yelled for assistance once more before ducking behind a building wall. The gunner didn't seem to be following after him, but he had still been caught in the leg, and was left limping. It was rather painful, this bullet in his upper calf. He glared as he hobbled his way back to their base, where was that no good German bastard? Following after his husband, the Heavy? Or his part time lover the Pyro? Tending to the invisible wounds of his Australian pet? Or...

Or was he sitting right next to the dispenser, sharing a laugh with the team's Engineer. Soldier slammed his rocket launcher down on the ground next to them, livid. "Wen some one calls, 'medic' yer suppose to help them." He snapped, trying to find himself something to bandage his wound up.

"Hallo, Herr Soldat." The German said coolly. As if he hadn't noticed the blood pouring from the wound, which he had. "Did you vant somesing?"

"Yes, I want to you do your damn job." The American spat, sitting down, and ripping off his boot. "Now heal me dammit."

"Vhy vould I do zhat? You seem to hef zhe problem taken care of." Medic said, about to stand up, placing one last needle inside his gun before he headed off.

Soldier caught the tail of his coat, and tugged on it, "Get. This. Bullet. Outta. Me." He growled.

"I hef ozher, more important vork to do, zhen fuss over your vounds. Ja? Herr Engineer, vould be so kind?" He asked the rather quiet Texan, smiling politely.

"Yeah, dun 'bout it, none." The man said, tipping his hard hat to the German. Waiting patiently for the doctor to run off before tending to his teammate's wounds. "Now, how in the hell dija get shot back here?" He asked as he lifted the soldier's trousers, slightly amused.

"How ya think? I stopped in the middle of the battlefield to ask the Blus directions to the nearest malt shop, and a giant mosquito came out of no where, and the nice Blus just tried to get rid of it for me."

"Ya know... I wouldn' be surprised if seventy percent of that story was actually true." He said taking a pair of pliers to the other's leg. "An' y'all know not to yell at the doc like that. He's just gonna flat out refuse you."

"But he was hired to be a doctor, and heal us." Soldier said, gritting his teeth as Engineer pulled the bullet free. It kinda stung. Like a lot.

"Well, maybe if you were nicer to him..."

"Not happening."

"Then I can't help you."

The soldier snorted, and re-stocked on his ammo while the engineer bandaged him up. Really, they didn't need a medic with Engineer around. He was a far better doctor, than that German.

______________

He turned on his record player, and placed a record down on the turn table, carefully, as if it was made of glass. Spy rested on the bed, lazing around like a tired cat, cigarette held lightly between two fingers. It wasn't lit. The Frenchman watched the German with keen interest from his spot. It was almost a ritual every time he stepped into the medical bay. He would go first to his record player, and put on his favorite one. And then he would wash his hands, after putting on new gloves. His patients would just have to wait until he was done with what he wanted to get done first. But this wasn't medical bay, it was the medic's room. The procedure was still the same. Except, when he was in his room, the doctor would occasionally mumble to himself.

Or in this case, the spy. "Zhat vas close today on zhe field."

"Which pa't? Zhe pa't where you 'ad you' 'ead almost blown clean off? Oh zhe pa't whe'e my watch stopped wo'king in zhe intelligence room?" Spy said casually, putting the white cylinder in his mouth. He wasn't allowed to smoke it in here, but that wouldn't stop him from toying with it.

"Well, zhey vere both very clo-you vatch stopped vorking?" Medic turned around and looked at him startled.

"Oui." He was sure he was chewing on the tobacco right now, "But. I did not come 'ere to talk about zhat."

"Did you come to steal mien bed?"

"Non... Oui... but, non. I came 'ere to ask about zhe soldier."

"Zhen you vill get out. I vill not talk about zhat schwienhund."

"Oh, I think you do."

"Spy, get out."

"Wheneve' you' ready to talk, mon ami." Spy said, grinning, sliding off his friend's bed, and vanishing out the door. Medic was sure the man was chuckling while he was at it. But, he was too tired right now to exact swift justice. Right now, maybe he just wanted to lay down. And, maybe he was a little hungry. .... Medic frowned, and looked at the door. No... No, he wasn't hungry. He was just tired. He flopped down on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. That French bastard's smell was all over it.


	2. In wherein there's an accident

Mmm... Sorry for the dely, those of you who are mad enough to read this. My co-author went on a mini-vacation, and didn't get back to me about this chapter until just now. She created the soldier and scout in this story, and so... yeah... Story time.

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"A _Red_ is one thing, but a _Nazi_..." Soldier couldn't even finish the sentence. The two were glaring daggers at each other from across the room. They weren't even looking at each other. Well, they hadn't been at first. But then one of them sneezed, and suddenly, they were trying to claw through their teammates to get at one another.

"Vhat iz wrong vith you, Soldat? Who sed I vas a Nazi?" Medic spat, struggling against the large Russian's restraining arms.

"Look at you, you German son-of-a-bitch! Everything about you _screams_ 'Nazi'!"

They got like that sometimes. Usually after a bad fight against the Blus, where one of them had gotten hurt, and the other could have prevented it. This time it happened to be a leg injury that Medic had refused to heal.

"Dummkopf! Ef I vas, zhen vhy hevn't I killed you yet?"

"Because you're a spineless coward, maggot!"

"Come here und say zhat! I dare you!"

Ever since they first met, they had been like this. It probably had gotten worse... But some days it looked like it had gotten better. Better than the first time they had seen one another, and fired off live ammo.

______

"Oh shit!"

"... Well I'll be damned..."

"OH MY FREAKIN' GAWD!"

"Musta been sum sorta glitch in the mechanism..."

"ENGIE YOU DUMB FUCK!"

"Dagnabbit boy! I din do nothin! Now stop yer yellin'!"

"Y'FREAKIN' GUN SHOT 'IM!"

"Nah, _we_ shot 'im."

"IT WAS _YOUR_ SENTRY!"

"Stop yer hollerin' boy, it aint helpin' no-one."

Engineer stooped down to get a good look at the sorry thing. Scout hopped around on the balls of his feet nervously. Between them, a small dark brown mass of fur. Well... It was sort of turning into a red blob of what use to be brown fur. And the red was slowly puddling around it. It was still breathing, despite laying there in a crumpled heap.

Four-legged, and long snout split open. Black lips revealing sharp, needle like teeth, and a long pink tongue that lolled and twitched every second with the ever increasing labor of breath. It wore a makeshift collar, made out of a strip of leather, and a helmet buckle. And an engraved scrap of metal gave it a name. Chester.

"Oooooh my gawd, he's gonna frickin' kill us!" Scout continued his crazed nervous hop, looking around panicked. Not unlike a rabbit, or a deranged slinky.

"'e aint dead yet, son... I wonder if I c'n git the bullet out m'self..." Engineer wondered, pulling out his tool kit, staring at the quarter sized bullet hole in the pup's side.

"D's gonna frickin' _kill_ us, an' we're gonna frickin' _die_."

"Well, that _would_ be the proper thing t'appen if sumone got killed..." Engineer was horribly calm about this, but then again, he usually was calm about everything. Unless it of course involved his machines. He kept looking between the wound and his tool belt, to back to the wound. And then shook his head.

"I dun have anythin' in'ere tha' cud 'elp..." He sighed and lifted the poor thing off the ground, and handed it to a very tense scout. Who would have dropped it if he wasn't so shocked. "Now, you run this little feller right on over to Ziggy. Man's gotta have sumthin' in that big ol' pharmacy of his." Engineer smiled, despite having his overalls and gloves smeared with the puppy's blood.

Scout turned around, heading back to the base at a full run. Although he kept his sights on the blood covered engineer for as long as he could. A look of, "We are totally going to die" plastered over his features.

"DAWK!" Scout hollered, his screaming complimented by the sound of his shoes skidding on the linoleum floor. The medic twitched from his quiet place at his desk. The music from his victrola still playing softly despite the interruption. Who would have thought Scout would be this energetic, when no one else was? Didn't he tell the young man to save his energy til when he needed it? Like, when they were fighting? "Yh, yh, y'gotta save 'im, man!"

"Thomas, you must calm dow-" Medic had a habit of using the team's names when they got too stressed out. It was a sad attempt at comforting them, but an attempt non-the-less.

"No time! Ches. Shot. Bleeding!" Scout said, pushing the bloody mess of a pup into the standing doctor's hands. He was surprised, but, not as traumatised as the younger man.

"Izn't zhis your brother's hund?" He asked, hurrying it onto a lab table, and preparing for surgery.

"Y-y-yeah. Ches an' I was jus' playin' outside and... An' then Eddy shows up with 'is dumb sentry, an' BOOM! Ches goes down, an'... oh god, D's gonna totally frickin' kill us..." Scout said resuming his nervous bouncing, trying to stay behind the German as he did.

"Calm down, calm down... I don't sink you' brother would go as fah as killingk you. Maybe beingk mad enough to nevah speak to you again, but, nevah killingk." Medic said cutting the fur off one of the puppy's legs.

"W-w-w-whaddaya doin'?" Scout tried looking over the doctor's shoulder. He ended up just getting in the older man's way.

"If you vant zhis dog to live, I suggest you get out, und clean yourself up." He said trying to work as quickly as he could. Scout bit his lower lip, looking between the doctor and the animal patient, and back to the doctor. He stared back at the dog long enough to watch the doctor insert a catheter into the thin leg before slowly nodding. He thought he was going to throw-up. His stomach was churning.

"...O-...Okay, man. Jus' promise me he'll be alright."

"I promise I'll do my best." He didn't look up.

______

Soldier walked through the, almost eerily quiet, base, eyebrows knit together, brown eyes narrow and sharp, searching. He spotted Spy, and Sniper in the kitchen, staring quietly at each other from across the table. Their stares like the blades they used. Spy's hands folded neatly in front of him, one hand held a lit cigarette. Smoke curling around him. Sniper quietly drank god know's what in a coffee mug. It probably wasn't coffee though, judging from the time of night it was. Soldier frowned. They were doing it again.

"Look, you two can do what_ever_ you want back in your RV, but not out here." He had already tried convincing them how what they did was immoral, and how they were going to burn in Hell, but, that hadn't stopped them.

"We are doing nothing wrong..." Spy said quietly, his eyes never breaking contact with Sniper's.

"Jus' sittin' 'eah, mate..." Sniper continued while Spy took a drag from his cig, blowing the smoke out from his nose.

"That's what you said last time. On the couch." Soldier folded his arms across his chest. He didn't want to remember.

"Din' do nothin' then eithah." Sniper put his mug down and shrugged.

"But you... And him... And you two were... And in front of my brother too!"

"'e did not seem to mind as much as you." Spy said for the first time looking away from the Australian, and instead at the American. "hat do you want?"

"Where's everyone?" Soldier sighed. He wouldn't win against these two. He knew it.

"Scout iz be'ind you, and zhe others... Are... somewhere else."

Solider blinked. He hadn't heard Scout at all. Maybe he wasn't paying attention. Scout was pretty loud after all. Even when he was being quiet. He turned around, tired of looking at those two... _looking at each other_, anyways. Scout's eyes were covered with the brim of his hat, he was holding himself funny.

"...It smells like toast in here..." The younger mumbled, looking at the counter.

"Thomas, what's the matter?" Soldier asked. He could always tell when his brother was upset, or something was wrong. Ever since Thomas found a frog with a broken leg, and hid it in a shoebox under his bed. Back when they were younger. He always stood like that. Never looked at people. And he would always try to hang onto the person he was most nervous about talking to. Like, how he was right now. Grabbing his brother's sleeve, and tugging on it gently.

"Uhm... I ah... I got sumin' t' show ya..." He said, leading Soldier down the hall. His hand had slipped and fell into the other's. Clutching it like a vice. Soldier frowned worriedly. This was worse than the frog. Worse than breaking grandma's cookie jar. Worse than... Well, probably not as worse as when he spilled grape juice on dad's suit. And definitely not as bad as when he cut up his older brother's military fatigues to make dresses for their sister's dolls. But, it was still pretty bad. Soldier's hand was starting to hurt a bit...

Wait a minute. He knew this part of the base. Well, he knew every part of the base. But... He knew this part of the base, and didn't like this part of the base. At all. This was the Nazi's section. The section that Soldier tried to avoid at all costs. Why in the name of g- ...

Medic had his back turned on the two Americans. His shoulders slumped a little. He pushed away the IV drip that was close by, and removed the tubing from whatever he was working on. Probably some stupid genetic experiment gone wrong. He turned, and pulled off his bloody gloves, dropping them on the table. Yeah, some stupid genetic experiment gone wrong. A stupid genetic experiment with brown fur. ... That... Looked oddly familiar. Scout's fingers were digging into his brother's skin as his eyes grew wide.

"What. The. _Fuck_. Did you do to my dog, you _fucking bastard_." Medic paused and looked up at him.


	3. In Wherein We Emote

Kurt Vonnegut said, "Write to please just one person" This story was intended for a single person, and yet,you people who read it, say such nice things, it makes me smile. The person I use to write this story for... had a falling out with me during the time I started writing this. It took me a while to pick it back up, and I'm very sorry. To make it up to you all who waited patiently, and impatiently, I made sure it was longer, and now I write for you. Enjoy. (please feel free to critique away, I was sad when I wrote it :c)

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He was shot. Or maybe it was stabbed? No, he wasn't hurt. If he was, then it would hurt, right? Well, it should. But, it didn't. So, it wasn't. Right? Right? Then why was his vision getting fuzzy? Then why were all the explosiony sounds and girly wails getting softer? He was getting tired. The last thing he saw before he passed out was his beautiful wife, Elenore. He didn't quite make it into her arms before passing out. And she didn't smell quite like her lovely perfume either. More like... Alcohol.

_______

He was back home. Back home, in his beautiful state: Massachusetts. It was snowing, but, he couldn't feel it; too warm with the feelings of excitement and joy. Under each arm was a present for each of his children. And at his side, bounced a small puppy. Elenore didn't know that he was coming. He hadn't called her. She wouldn't know, and nor would Little Tommy, and Dina.

His smile grew wider the closer he got home. And there she was. The children only six and eight, playing in the snow, building a snow family together. Their mother in the doorway... She looked at him, and her face lit up. Coat missing, hair a mess, she ran out into the snow, and nearly knocked him over.

She smelled like rubbing alcohol. It burned his nose.

"Herr Soldat, sit zhe rest of zhis battle aut, hokay? Herr Pyro vould be heppy to vatch ovah you until ve ah sure zhe BLUs vont attek for now." The voice was quiet, commanding, kinda soothing and nice. Smelled like rubbing alcohol. Why did it hurt to breath? He coughed. "You were hurt. You von't die zhough. I vill mek sure auf dat." He coughed again. There was a low hum nearby. A few low hums. He didn't pay attention to them. He closed his eyes. Or. Were they closed already?

_______

His hate for the man burned. From where it stemmed, he blamed it on the man being born German. Blamed him for what his people had done. What he had obviously done for being German. And now killing a puppy? Sure. Soldier may have been violent, but he wasn't evil, like the "Good Doctor". Damn no. Hell no. Fucking... Fuck no. But here the man was, waiting for an explanation to why an innocent dog was laying on the mad man's table, opened up for display like some... Some... Museum display.

The German's mouth opened. Brow furrowed. He shook his head slowly. "I vas fi-" The alarm sounded, and an aged woman's voice boomed from above and through-out the empty halls. Echoing like the bad omen it always was.

"OUR CONTROL POINT IS BEING CAPTURED!" She screamed as if this was a brand new thing. It wasn't. Before the message was completely relayed, the three REDs hurried out of the medical bay, gathering weapons and supplies quickly. The small blip of a heartbeat had continued quietly from the small life on the table.

The air was alive with gunpowder by the time the Soldier joined in the fray, being slower than the others - it wasn't easy carrying a rocket launcher, he would remind them occasionally. A rocket flew at him, and he swore - his life did not flash before his eyes. And if it did, it looked very much like a rocket, heading straight for him. There was an explosion of air behind him, it almost knocked him off his feet, and knocked his helmet off his head. The rocket was knocked off course, and was re-directed at a nearby construction. Was it barrels? A barn? Sniper's beloved van? He didn't have time to hazard a guess, as it exploded anyway.

"Thanks." He said, firing off a rocket of his own in the direction of the other team.

"Hurrr..." His savior replied before deciding there was an excellent time and place to burn as much air around as possible. And Soldier was glad for this Pyro's elevated caution: the other one didn't care much for team safety. It just wanted to kill things. It even had shaped its flamethrower to have a mouth full of teeth, and painted angry eyes on it. This one? Not so much.

Of course, as careful as this Pyro was, the enemy's Spy was probably just as, if not more so - at least around this one. And, as soon as the doll-eyed creature ran off to burn more things, the Spook appeared. Soldier fired off another volley.

Soldier smiled. So did Spy. The rocket hit it's mark: that man would not be going home to his wife and kids. He didn't feel bad about it. Nor did Spy, knife poised and then-... Well... It didn't hurt... Not really. Or... Did it? If he was stabbed, then... Then it would have hurt, right? He thought that maybe it might have hurt, just a bit. A whole lot actually. But... He didn't know. He saw Elenore. And she smelled of rubbing alcohol.

_________

Waking up in the medical bay, instead of a nice warm bed, with arms wrapped around a nice, warm, and sweet smelling wife, which he was dreaming about - and wished it was true... Well... Soldier was anything but pleased. Especially when the medical bay violated every single one of the senses, and it... No... it didn't hurt to breath... But, it didn't really help that, there was a tube stuck in his arm, making sure his movement was limited. Although, he did try to anyways. Stupid needle. Trying to tell him what he could and could not d- Okay. That hurt.

"Trying to get up iz not advisable..." Medic said quietly from his desk. He was writing something. Soldier didn't particularly care what it was about. But it did bother him that the German was being so calm, and that he was listening to American music. It was quiet too. But it was still audible, and it was still very much American. Sounded nice... But, it was a love song.

Soldier reluctantly stopped his twitching, and stared hatefully at the ceiling. He hated that ceiling. Really did. Because it was here. "What happened out there, doc?" He didn't want to talk to the man. But. Hey. He didn't know how the battle went. He wanted to know. Also, it would have been awkward just listening to that song and the scribbly sound of the pen.

"Ve von."

"How."

"Zhe hed a hasty retreat."

"What happened to me."

"You got lucky."

"How."

"Zhe knife of zhe Spy missed you' spine, and managed to not hurt anyzing... Zhat important."

"Oh." That... That worked, Soldier thought. It would explain why he was in pain now after all. And... Well, he was sorta glad Medic didn't get too technical on him. He really was in pain right now. And he bet if the doctor embellished, then, maybe it would hurt worse. Science had that kind of affect on people. But something still didn't sit right with him.

"Hey, doc." There was no answer.

"Doc." The pen was still scratching along, so he knew the medic was still there.

"Doctor."

"Vhat?" He sounded irritated.

"Why'd you help me?"

"Zhey vould dok my pay if I kept refusing you treatment." It... It was suppose to be funny. Right? It sounded like it was suppose to be funny. But... Medic's voice was flat. So, maybe not?

"Oh."

"Soldat, I must finish zhis, hokay? Give me... Dri- zw-... th-thhr-...thwee minutes." Medic said, obviously struggling to make the English words come out clearly. Yet still solemn he was. Soldier frowned. The ceiling wasn't that ugly if he kept paying attention to the music. Medic had paused in his scribble writing at one point, and to make sure his record player played the song again.

"...regret the years I'm givin', they're easy to give when you're in love. I'm happy to do whatever I do for you. For you maybe I'm a fool. But it's fun. People say you rule me..." The lady's voice was actually quite nice. Soldier thought that he knew who it was, but... Couldn't quite place it. Although, he thought he should know who...

"She sounds nice." Soldier said when he heard Medic putting his pen down. The scraping of the chair legs against the linoleum floor was anything but pleasant. And not even the lovely voice could cover it up.

"Really? Zhis isn't really my first choice in music." His voice sounded closer. He was getting closer. Soldier's hackles rose.

"Then... Why're you listening to this?" He was being a good boy. He was staying calm. Even though the Nazi's face loomed over him. Hovering... He was hovering.

Medic carefully removed the needle he had put in Soldier's arm. It hurt, obviously, or else the American wouldn't have winced like he did. And blood started welling when the metal pipe was taken out of the flesh. Medic was already taking care of that, pressing a cloth against it gently.

"Well?" Soldier asked, as he was helped into a sitting position. Medic grabbed the man's unstuck arm, and prompted him to hold the gauze against his damaged skin himself while he would examine the back wound carefully. Poking and pressing at different parts around it, and at it, itself. It hurt. Soldier will admit that. It really, really honestly hurt.

"Zhere's people I zhink you vould vant to see, vanting for you outside. Put you' shirt on, und go tell zhen zhat you' fine." Medic said before returning to his record player, stopping the machine in the middle of a different song, to go back to the one they'd been listening to the whole time Soldier was conscious. Although, judging by Medic's obsession with it, he was probably listening to it longer than Soldier knew. Frowning slightly, mostly due to the fact that he was still here, and it still smelled like rubbing alcohol, and the Nazi just... dismissed him so casually, without any insult or hint of a fight, or aggression. Soldier did as he was instructed, simply dropping the bloodied gauze onto the floor when he slipped his shirt back on, and hopped off the examination table, and out the door.

If he had taken a glance at the medic just before he left, he would have noticed that the man was shaking.

But he was too focused on the sight that awaited him outside the too clean smelling room. There, sitting as a small group was Scout, and the kind Pyro. Crazy Pyro should have been somewhere close by - the two fire-lovers were always close by whenever the two companies were fighting. But that wasn't important. What was important, was that cradled in Scout's lap was a small ball of brown fur. Soldier would have called it a brown puddle, but it had a distinctive ball shape. And also it had a pretty big white wrap around it's middle. Nice Pyro was hovering over it, rubbing its head carefully with one large finger. It was sleeping, and shifted slightly in Scout's arms, batting Good Pyro's finger away to get at an itchy nose. Scout looked up at Soldier and grinned. Soldier grinned back. Kind Pyro was too busy making soft humming noises at the little thing to notice, or care for that matter.

"Where'd you find a dog on such quick notice?" Soldier nodded to the puppy.

"When'd it be okay to get killed?" Scout shot back. Soldier sat on the other side of Scout, and looked down at the fuzzy thing.

"So Chester's ..."

"He's doin' fine. See? Dad'n I are takin' care of him." Scout said, nudging Nice Pyro, who, as of right that moment was 'dad'. He looked up at the two other men with his big as dinner plate eyes, and hummed as if he just noticed that they were both there.

"That's good... That's good..." Soldier said, scratching the dog's rump. The tail quickly hid itself between the back legs.

"Doc gave him some stuff to sleep. Says it'll help."

"Really? Then... Maybe I should thank him?" For not killing my dog was left out.

"Nah, leave him alone, man. He's kinda stressed." Scout said getting to his feet. Pyro and Soldier followed suit.

_________

The men... were as young boys. Boisterous and loud. Things were breaking, and dropped and smashed while the play fought in the large lounge-type room. The couch had been moved back to make even more room in the center for a pseudo-wrestling ring. They had all gotten out of their "work clothes" and dressed in a more casual get up. For some of them, it simply meant taking off their armed, rigged, and armored vests and belts, for others, such as the two pyros, it meant a new wardrobe completely. Demon Pyro wore different odds and ends of others' torn and considered useless clothes. He wore gloves made up of their different emblems. It was good to know though, that there was someone in their base that knew how to mend rips and tears-buying new apparel every time they were done fighting was starting to cost. A lot. Saint Pyro on the other hand, simply wore overalls and a t-shirt.

Nice Pyro, Spy, Soldier, and Medic sat out on the nightly activities of the other men. Good-guy Pyro and Spy sat on the couch. Actually, Spy was more or less laying on it, trying to claim the whole thing with his long limbs, and despite saying that he had dressed down, he was basically just missing his jacket, and vest. Tie still around his neck, loosened only a bit, gloves still on his hands, mask always on. Always. He watched with slight interest Sniper and the Demo-man fighting. In every way looking like a cat. A cat minus a tail, and that smoked. Jolly Pyro on the other hand curled up on the couch like a child, with little Chester on his lap, keeping the pup still whenever a random burst of energy came over the small thing. He looked like he wanted to join in, in the men's merry making but, didn't dare voice his thoughts once, preferring to care for the small and injured first and foremost.

Soldier was in very much the same way. Except instead of being in charge of a small wounded animal, he was simply just wounded. And Medic? Actually. Where was Medic? And for that matter, where was the loud bear like man that they had all become partial to?

Sniper and Demo-man finished their row, tagging out for Scout and Odd-ball Pyro. Spy moved just enough to let Sniper in, then laid back down, Sniper's lap now being used as a pillow. Demo off to the fridge for something to drink. Scout and Pyro grappled. Soldier's brow furrowed. This was kinda bothering him. Was the Heavy Weapons Man off with Engineer? No... No that couldn't be, since... There Engineer was, eating one of the Heavy's sandviches. Was he with Medic? No, no... Medic was alone last time he saw the man... Then...

"Hey. Where's the bear?" The jolly attitude of the group seemed to drop. Scout lost interest in pinning Pyro. Nice Pyro focused harder on the dog in his lap. Spy dropped his cigarette on the floor, where Sniper stepped on it. Engineer decided then was a nice time to fill his mouth with sandvich, and Demo came back holding what looked suspiciously like Scout's soda.

"Ye 'aven't 'eard?" Demo asked, managing to catch the question before he came in.

"No?"

"Thouche would'ave. Ye've unly been in Doc Patche's den all dey." He took a swig of what was in his hands.

"What happened?"

"Ol' 'eavy's dead, lad."

"What?"

"Aye! Arreh went clean through 'is 'ead!"

"What?"

"Woche not gettin' 'ere?"

"Some one should check on Medic. They were friends, right?" Soldier asked slowly.

"Nae, we should jus' let the man alone. He'll be fine." Soldier frowned. That didn't sound like very good advice. He had worked with people who lost close friends. They went mad. They killed themselves. Sometimes others. It was not a pretty sight.

_________

He couldn't believe he was doing this. He really couldn't believe he was doing this. The man he hated. He was checking on. To... To make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Of course. Yeah. Just that. It wouldn't do well to have another team member die. Especially since... He was just returning a favor. He knocked on the Medic's door before opening it. He knew he wouldn't have gotten a response if he had waited.

"Hey... Doc. You okay?" There was no response. The lights were on. The record player was on, but spun the record quietly. Medic sat stock still at his desk. His hands folded together, pressed against his mouth.

"Doc...?" Soldier crept forward. He thought he heard the German mumbling something behind his hands. "Medi-"

,,Er war mein Freund... Und jetzt ist er tot..."

"Wh-"

,,Lassen Sie mich allein."

"I don't understand-"

The Medic shot him a look filled with nothing but malice. He grabbed the pen from his desk and threw it at Soldier, screaming, ,,JETZT GOTT VERDAMMT!" If the medic was at all accurate, then perhaps Soldier would have been more scared. But, it bounced harmlessly against a wall, and, he took that as a cue to leave.

_________

Soldier sat on the now abandoned couch, staring out a window, scotch in his hand. Everyone had long gone to sleep. But, he sorta wasn't tired. Must have been due to the fact that he already slept a bit earlier. Slept out in the field. And in the medical bay. Yeah. His brow was furrowed. Someone sat down next to him. It wasn't that close. But it was close enough to shift the couch.

"He vas my friend you know..." Came the quiet voice of a very worn man.

"I know."

"Und he died today."

"I know."

"I had to leave him. Just for a second, to help you."

"I didn't know."

"He... I vasn't gone long. I came back to him. Und he vas still alive. But... Zhey... Zhey..." His hands started shaking. Soldier handed him the scotch, and the man quickly gulped it down. He cradled the glass like he would a baby. "Zhey svarmed, und, zheh vas nozing I could do. He..."

Soldier looked at him for the first time since their last encounter in the doctor's office. He looked like he was crying. But there were no tears. He reached a hesitant hand over, and patted the man on the back.

"Let me see you' vound." Medic said quietly, face down in his lap.

"Uh..."

"Bitt-...eh... Please."

Soldier frowned, but did what he was asked. Slowly of course. That was an odd request, but, he supposed if it helped, then... Then it helped. He took off his shirt, and re-adjusted himself on the couch so Medic wouldn't have to get up, and reach over the back of the furniture. He waited patiently as he felt the bandage Medic had placed there a while being pulled back. He busied himself with staring at the walls while the doctor occupied himself with the wound. That is until he felt something against the wound. It wasn't the normal pulling feel of rubber against skin. No, no. It was the tingly feel of skin against skin. The doctor's fingertips brushing over the cut and the surrounding area. It was sort of shocking. Medic took his gloves off for no one. He never let his hands out of those sweaty things. And this? This felt pretty nice. His hands there on his back.

Too bad it ended too fast. As soon as Soldier realized what had happened, the bandage was replaced with a new one carefully. And the Medic was retreating back to his room quickly. Soldier stared after him, perplexed. "You're welcome?" He asked the air.

_________

That night, he dreamed that he was in a warm bed with warm hands wrapped around him. He liked that. That intimate connection with some one else. He pulled the figure closer to himself. The person who's body wasn't as soft as Elenore's. The person who didn't smell like sweet delicate perfume. The person that smelled like rubbing alcohol.

When he woke up, the next morning, he sat up, and looked down. "... Shit."


End file.
